#onerous

The pair’s long-legged strides had them at the door of Idanwyn’s quarters in short order. Leaving the door ajar, Idanwyn continued to call out orders as she changed into her formal dress. “Tell Falkgara an’ Rinh tae keep eyes on th’ tides an’ stars, both. If I’m no’ back before they deem it time tae set sail, have ‘em weigh anchor anyroad.”

Fasheran started to reply in the affirmative, then paused, picking at a loose thread on her tunic. “Kapitan...I will do zis, of course, but...you are not capable of aether travel at zis time. Are you saying we should leave you behind?”

Idan emerged from her quarters, closing the door firmly behind her, finishing up a few errant buckles here and there as she walked to the gangway. “I’ll bleedin’ hire someone tae send me tae th’ ship if I must, lass. Whole guild’s lousy wi’ arcanists; might be as they even do it fer free, seein’ as they’re th’ ones causin’ me current issues. As if they couldnae send a bleedin’ invoice; as if I’ve e’er been late payin’ a single one o’ their endless dues!”

The Rava chirurgeon inclined her head once as she followed Idanwyn onto the pier. “Understood, Kapitan. I am...sorry for the distress. I will relay ze orders.”

Idanwyn paused, tucking her hair up under her tricorne cap, then took a breath; calmer, this time, neither meant to bark orders nor vent her frustrations, but to offer apologies. “Ach, Fasheran, I’m sorry, lass. I ken I said ‘twas no’ yer fault, but I’m treatin’ ye lit’ it is. Th’ error is clearly on me ain end; ye dinnae need tae bear me misplaced wrath.”

Inclining her head towards Idanwyn, Fasheran replied, “I forgive you. Think no further on it. I wish you good fortune in this battle.” The steady-hearted medic turned back to the ship, her finger already raised to the ship’s linkpearl; Idanwyn’s own linkpearl picked up the relayed commands as she set off towards the nearest chocobo porter at a jog.

By the time she arrived in Limsa Lominsa, she was pouring sweat. “Fuckin’ traditional finery,” she groused, fanning herself with her hat as she loped across the Lower Decks. Even the ever-present sea breezes did little to cool her body or her temper; the early autumn sun was still warm, and humidity from the coasts so famed for their crops crept across the chalky spires of the harbor city.

Pausing outside the doors of the Assessors’ offices, Idan took a moment to get herself in order. At length, her heartbeat steadied, and she tugged at her cravat, hoping the fact that its linens hung loose with sweat would go unnoticed by the sharp-eyed tax collectors. Setting her hat atop her head, she waited for a pack of visitors from Ul’dah to make their exit before she made her entrance.

“State your name and business,” said the Miqo’te behind the only open counter.

“P’tahjha, ye ken full weall...” Idanwyn trailed off as the woman eyed her steadily over her half-moon spectacles. “Idanwyn Lluanswys, also called Idanwyn Lluan’s-kin, Captain o’ th’ Free Trader Nixie. I’m here at yer summons.”

“One moment.” A carbuncle sitting atop the desk stared at Idanwyn, the ruby-red gem set between its unsettling eyes flashing for a moment before it trotted off, retrieving records and setting them by its mistress’s hand. “Ah, yes. Bound for Thavnair in...my, just a bell from now, yes? Let’s hope we’re able to resolve this for you. Wouldn’t want to face any sanctions now, would we?”

Idanwyn stowed her temper, but her left eye twitched. She felt fresh sweat start to prickle beneath her brow; she was going to need a tonze of water after completing this onerous task, and perhaps a second tonze of ale. “What issue is sae pressin’ tha’ it couldnae be sent via moogle, lass?”

“Well, for one thing, the cost of exporting the Yellow Ginseng your vessel brought back from its most recent venture out East has increased substantially. Congratulations on avoiding another entanglement with Kugane, by the by. For another,” the Assessor continued crisply, “our carbuncles’ latest inspections have revealed that you are carrying an unusually-large amount of Trader Vetch. Surely you are aware that these two potent, medicinal herbs, being delivered to,” she traced her left claw down the page, “the Great Work, yes, is subject to further levies? Only ships flying Maelstrom colors are duty-free, Captain Lluanswys.”

“Oh, aye? Navy’s been doin’ a lot o’ tradin’ voyages lately, has it? An’ here I t’ought we Free Traders,” she emphasized each word, “were responsible fer tha’, while th’ Navy is providin’ assistance elsewhere.”

P’tahjha set the file down and folded her arms. “Captain, I deal with furious blowhards like yourself all day, every day. Are you going to pay, or not? Last I heard, you still have no idea how to wield an axe, and your...aetherial capabilities seem rather...deficient, so I confess I am not feeling particularly threatened right now.”

Idanwyn leveled a sharp glance to the carbuncle, which squeaked in reply; it had noticed her weak personal aether. “Tattletales, all o’ ye,” she growled, then turned her attention back to the Assessor. “Fine. How much?”

As the frazzled, sweat-drenched Captain rode a chocobo back to the porter near the Mist docks, she was relieved to see that the sails were raised, but the Nixie was still in port. Her crew had heeded her orders; they really would have left without her. Still, deep down, she was relieved she hadn’t missed departure; despite what she’d claimed to Fasheran, she wasn’t entirely sure she would have been able to find someone to send her to the Nixie’s on-board aetheryte. No reason to tell them that; the news that their coffers had taken a hit would be disheartening enough, even if such last-minute inconveniences were part and parcel of running a ship like theirs.

“Ain’t really about what I want, is it?” She took a swallow of her whiskey and told herself it was because she wanted to and not because she needed to. 

He eyed her with a shrewdness that she knew meant he was busy amending what he knew of her. They did this every time their paths crossed. Catching up to how time had carved a few more edges off but left others. 

“You sending out letters in the cartel’s name now?” She asked, focusing on the warm burn the whiskey left down her throat and not the rabbit-quick, double pace of her heartbeats. Counting down until this conversation was over. 

A smile slid across his face as sharp as a knife. “Hadn’t you heard? I run the cartel now.”

She hadn’t heard. Aislinn rolled this news around on her tongue like an unpalatable bit of liquor gone sour. 

Reading her expression, the sharp edge of his smile blunted into amusement. “Looks like you swallowed something bad there, darlin’. You need help?” 

Seven hells take him. The flash of her eyes said as much. “What happened to Cooper?”

He lifted his glass and scratched at the stubble along his jaw, those ice chip eyes narrowing as if he didn’t rightly remember and had to think back. It was all for show and they both knew it. “The Blades caught up to him. Messy business.” he said before taking a drink. 

“I’m sure it was.” Aislinn would also put money on Sterling helping them along. He wore ambition like an old coat. “Suppose congratulations are in order.” She managed. Somehow.

He inclined his head to her. “Thank you.”

“Careful you don’t end up with two in the back like U’Rahna.”

“That a threat?” He drawled, flashing a toying grin.

“Just an observation.”

“I appreciate the concern.”

“So did you invite me out here to gloat or…?” She said, wanting nothing more than to put distance between them. Like two identically polarized magnets forced too close together, she felt the inexorable push.

“Kinda petty, isn’t it? What do you take me for?” Then, before she could answer, he shifted in his seat and leaned forward into the dusty motes of desert light spilling through the window casting the sharp planes of his face in a stark contrast of light and shadow. He was through with the repartee. “I told you. This is about Stark Oak.” He said flatly, his forearms coming to rest on the worn table’s edge. “The boys and I were out on a job not too long back. Out east towards Paglth’an. We skirted a little too close to one of those towers and ran into trouble. And Stark Oak. Raving mad as the rest of those tempered sods.” 

“You’re lying.” She said, hating how her voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

“Why? What do I get out of that?” He stared her down.

She shifted in her seat in an attempt to loosen the fabric sticking to her skin, suddenly finding the desert heat suffocating. “Hells if I know but he’s dead. He died in the Calamity.” 

“You know there was a time we thought that about you too.” There was a pause and then he leaned back in his chair as if pushed. “I’m not a bastard, Aislinn.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” The reply was right there on her tongue and ready. 

His jaw worked itself back and forth for a moment like there was something he wanted to say but he thought better of it. His eyes fell to the wicked scar that carved a jagged path just under her eyes.

And just like that the air between them crackled with old, unresolved tensions. For a long, stretched out moment neither one of them moved. And then with a deliberately slow motion, he reached for his glass. Probably smart on his part. She was strung as tight as a harp string and the iron on her hips was no more than half a breath away, as quick on the draw as she was. She watched him take an unhurried swallow of whiskey in a move that told her he was buying time. He pointedly glanced at the bartender and the scattering of grizzled old men, silently reminding her they weren’t alone. 

“I know what I saw. If anyone else had told me I’d write it off as bullshite. But I saw him with my own eyes.” He stated. “I wrote because I know what he meant to you.”

Stark Oak had taken her under his wing. Taught her how to shoot a gun, how to defend herself, how to fix machines. He kept the boys of the cartel away. He was a father figure when hers was busy drowning himself in alcohol. 

“You can decide what you want to do with the information.” 

That couldn’t be it. Sterling didn’t have an altruistic bone in his body. But it was all he was going to give her. He drained his glass and pulled his riding coat from where he had slung it over one of the empty chairs. 

The scar prickled and she resisted the urge to reach up and scratch at it.

“Why?” Why had he done it? What had she done? She had never asked him. She couldn’t remember why she never had. Maybe it never mattered. He had scarred her inside and out. Maybe there was nothing he could say that would satisfy her.

“You know why.” He said as he rose from his seat.

“I’m not talking about Stark Oak.”

He stilled for a scant moment, frozen, before he got on with readying to leave. “You know that too.”

“Do I?” She asked.

“You seemed to. As I recall you weren’t shy about telling me why I did it after you picked yourself up off the floor.” Shrugging on his coat, he stared back and she felt that push, that repelling force crawling up her throat like she might lose the contents of her stomach right then and there. It made her glad the discussion was coming to an end. He straightened the leather duster, tugging just a little too hard on the front seams. Half of her wished for one of those annoyingly smug smiles that would leave her burning with the urge to put a fist in his face but there was nothing but the stark, icy gaze. “Let’s leave it at that.” And behind the ice, a rueful flicker. There and gone.